


snapshots

by towine (snippetcee)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snippetcee/pseuds/towine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>How do you measure, measure a year?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> YES, the summary is from [seasons of love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYjgUOsPHd4), because i am a sap.
> 
> thanks for reading!

It goes like this.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
The first winter they spend together is nearly _unbearable_ —near record low temperatures and the sun almost completely unseen for weeks behind the thick, heavy silver of the winter sky. Every blanket in the apartment is put to good use, their bed having turned into something of a multi-colored nest of fabrics, and they hide beneath it like children, bumping knees and nudging elbows.  
  
Armin reads a book and Jean works on his laptop, or pesters Armin, or sleeps. Sometimes they spend hours kissing, just lips on lips and hands beneath shirts, gliding over skin in fleeting touches. Sometimes they just lie there breathing, existing.  
  
Jean is sent knitted socks from home and Armin gets holiday cards from Eren and Mikasa, and Christmas is a quiet, intimate affair between the two of them. They like it this way. Winter is not so unbearable with the right company.  
  
  
  
Armin gets a little too excited about floral patterns when spring finally rolls around, which Jean finds pretty endearing. And besides, Armin looks good in his rose-printed cardigan or floral patterned jeans.  
  
Armin takes his camera with him whenever they go out for walks, which is often now that the weather has decided to be kind and bring them sunny days. He snaps photos of anything, really: passing strangers, lonely flowers, steaming cups of tea and dogs he sees trotting with their owners down the sidewalk. He occasionally takes photos of Jean, which Jean complains about, raising his hand to try and cover his face.  
  
“Nooo,” Armin whines, “just one picture, come _on_.”  
  
“You see me literally every minute of every day, what do you need a picture for?” Jean still hasn’t dropped his hand from his face, and Armin pouts and puts the cap back on the camera lens.  
  
A few days later while Armin is in the shower, Jean, out of sheer curiosity, flips through his photo album. For all that Armin is an amateur photographer, some of his photos are actually rather nice. There are snapshots of strangers smiling secretly to themselves, on the subway or sitting alone at a café. There are trees from the park and flowers displayed on windowsills, a woman sitting on a bench feeding birds, a little boy with a green balloon. Some of the photos are just blurred images of color and light, and Jean touches them gently, wondering what Armin had seen.  
  
He flips to the next page and stops, exhales in amusement.  
  
“Well,” Jean says to himself, “at least I’m not drooling.”  
  
Of course there’s a picture of him, _of course_ Armin had taken a photo at the only opportunity he could: while Jean was sleeping.  
  
It’s not a bad picture—he’s on his side, the window behind him, morning light spilling through and blurring his edges gold and white. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and the sheets are tugged up to his waist, and it’s otherwise unremarkable, really, except Armin must have seen something in it. Jean is a little self-conscious, suddenly, and is glad Armin isn’t in the room because he’s sure he’s blushing.  
  
He closes the album, places it back on the shelf just as Armin steps out of the bathroom and says, “Hey! Is it alright if we try this one place for dinner…”  
  
(Later that week, Jean opens the album again to add his own photo. It’s from a cheap disposable camera he had bought, and it’s not nearly as nice as Armin’s, but he tried. This photo in particular he is especially fond of, and keeps an extra copy for himself.  
  
Armin isn’t drooling in his picture either, but his hair is messier, and Jean smiles as he slides the picture beneath the plastic coating of the album’s page. He only feels a little bad about taking the photo without telling Armin. It’s only fair, after all.)  
  
  
  
Jean isn’t overly fond of summer; the air is thick and humid and so damn _hot_ Jean feels a little like baking slowly in an oven. The subway is literal hell and the sidewalk feels like a hot iron beneath his feet, and Jean is in bliss when he presses his face against the cool surface of their refrigerator, sighing.  
  
“Save me, Armin,” he groans, slumping against the fridge.  
  
“You’re getting sweat on it,” Armin says, batting him away, “shoo, go sit in front of the fan.”  
  
Jean does, splayed inelegantly across the couch and whining for Armin to do _something_ , anything, Jean doesn’t even know what. End summer, maybe, and bring winter back.  
  
“Oh here, you big baby.” Armin hands him a glass of water, ice-cold, and Jean presses the glass against his cheek before even drinking it. Armin drops onto the couch with him, smiling amusedly at Jean’s antics.  
  
“Maybe we should do something,” Armin suggests, nudging Jean’s leg, “get out of the city.”  
  
“Yeah?” Jean says, sipping his water.  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“Had anything in mind?”  
  
Armin looks a little bashful. “I was thinking… maybe the beach? I know it’s crowded around this time and you hate crowds, but…” He shrugs a shoulder.  
  
Jean stares for a moment, pondering the idea for only a second before saying, “Alright.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Armin, you fucking love the beach, of course we’re going.”  
  
Armin dips his head and smiles again, in that pleased way he always does when Jean says something right. Jean feels a little stupidly pleased himself, reaching out to curve his hand around the back of Armin’s neck and pull him in.  
  
Armin slumps forward, lying down on top of Jean. And maybe it’s too hot to have their bodies tangled so closely together like this, but neither of them care in the least.  
  
  
  
They can finally start wearing sweaters again, and scarves, and Armin trades his cut-off shorts for jeans and leggings, which Jean would lament if Armin didn’t already look cute in basically anything.  
  
Autumn is nice, Autumn is not summer’s hellish heat or winter’s biting cold. It’s red and gold and bronze, falling leaves and chilled mornings, silver clouds, cups of coffee. Armin’s photo album is filled to the brim with pictures of leaf-strewn park paths and sprawling trees. Jean even allows a few snapshots of himself, until Armin gets a little overzealous and captures about twenty before Jean says, “Alright, that’s enough, I’m no model.”  
  
Jean waits for something to break the illusion, waits for an angel or deity or _something_ to descend from the sky and tell him, “You’re too damn happy, this is unfair.” Because Jean really does feel more content than he ever has in his entire life, and it’s almost a little unreal—like he’s cheating, somehow, and avoiding all the bad shit that lies in wait for him in the dark alleys of his life.  
  
He hears the click of a shutter, and turns to see Armin’s camera pointed at him.  
  
“Caught you thinking again,” Armin says, smiling. He looks down at the camera screen. “Ooh, this is a good one.”  
  
Jean shakes his thoughts away, slides his hand into Armin’s and says, “Come on, no more pictures. Let’s get lunch, already,” and grins as Armin falls into step with him, excitedly prattling on about the prospect of food.  
  
(They don’t manage to keep the camera off during lunch—Armin likes taking pictures of his food and Jean likes taking pictures of Armin. He manages to take a good shot of him munching on dessert, laughing behind his hand with sugar on his fingers. Jean sets it as his phone background.)  
  
  
  
It isn’t perfect, by any means. There are arguments and misunderstandings, where Armin closes in on himself and Jean gives too much and feels too hard it nearly breaks him. Nearly. But they are stronger than the things that threaten to pull them apart, and both of them are willing to work hard for a lifetime in bundles of this: winter nights, spring mornings, beach days in summer and autumn lunch dates; a camera covered in fingerprints and a photo album full to bursting, snapshots of their life captured in ink and glossy paper.  
  
It is not a perfect life, but it’s one that Jean is willing to protect.  
  
Winter returns to the city, bringing with it days of snow and freezing rain. Their bed has transformed back into a blanket-nest, and they eat pasta from colorfully painted bowls while watching some random movie on their tiny television. Jean makes some dumb comment, Armin laughs before shushing him. It’s mundane and everyday, and Jean wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.  
  
A few days later is the end of December, and with it, a new year.  
  
And it goes like this.


End file.
